CHAPTER ONE

 

The OR was silent, and everyone watched as he effortlessly removed a tumour from the hindbrain.

All eyes on me.

Only a handful of neurosurgeons would take up a case like that, and even fewer would have operated successfully.

The surgeon put down that malignant clot on a surgical tray, in a saline solution bottle. And now he gave a tired, satisfied smile, moving a couple of steps away.

“Close her up and send her to ICU, keep the patient under observation for 24 hours, keep a special eye for cerebral oedema, and page me if there’s an issue.” Taking off his surgical mask, he gave the instructions formally. Short-cropped light brown hair was confined in the surgical cap. The French cut stubble was overgrown, and his hazel eyes were tired.

“That was some piece of art,” his assisting surgeon sighed.

He bowed his head to receive the compliment, took off his gloves, and exited the O.R. There was no strength left in his body after a sixteen-hour surgery. He slowly walked towards the break room.

He picked up his phone from the phone tray.

“What is Hussain's full name?” This was the first message. 

“Jafar Hussain Ibn Affan Ali Qasim,” he responded, sighing. Leaving the children with Sakina was not a good idea. But he had no other option. Maryam, his wife, and their mother couldn’t take them to Umrah. And he couldn’t take them both to England.

“And Hassan’s?” Another message appeared.

“Isn’t that quite obvious, Sakina? Hassan and Hussain are brothers. What should be Hassan’s full name?”

“Jaffar Hassan Ibn Affan Ali Qasim”

“Exactly, I’m busy; don’t text me for such lame questions again,” he replied, shoving the phone into his pocket. His body was breaking down from fatigue. I miss home. He lay on the sofa, closing his eyes.

He had come to England for six months to lead a medical workshop. Interns and residents had come from different parts of Europe to learn from him. Dr Jaffar Affan Ali Qasim was a neurosurgical oncologist. His record was brilliant. Qasim had performed miraculous surgeries on such cases of cancer that the best doctors would have left them because they were too risky to operate. He was an excellent diagnostician and a gifted surgeon.

“Dr Qasim?” A nurse came and freed him from his thoughts.

“Yes, Madrid?”

“Dr Walker…”

“Tell Dr Walker I won’t explain to him the anatomy of an organ as complex as the brain after eighteen hours of surgery. He should be looking for answers in books”. He was frustrated, but still didn’t speak rashly. 

Affan never liked such over-smart interns. Interns who ran after doctors and surgeons, always eager to ask questions without regard for personal space, seemed even worse.

He was tired, and he needed sleep. He put his phone on airplane mode and closed his eyes. His head was resting against the side of the sofa.

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

In the pouring rain, she parked her car in the driveway and ran towards the house door. It was a small single-story bungalow just a short distance from the Vaterschaft. She opened the door and came in, turning on all the lights in the TV lounge. The TV lounge, which was less of a lounge and more of a workstation, was strewn with books. She shook her head and took a deep breath. A chopstick fell from her hair bun. The house was small but clean. Everything was in its place. The mess was only in her lounge.

She went into the kitchen, filled a glass of juice, and looked in the fridge to see a box of bread, juice, eggs, ice cream, and brownies. Picking up the ice cream, placing two brownies in the middle, she returned to the lounge sofa and sat down. It was a cheat day.

“I made some Aglio e Olio. I would love to share it with you.” Enzo's voice note flashed on her screen. He talked in a typical Italian accent. She took a shaky breath. Why wasn’t he ever tired? Enzo had breakfast with her in the morning, went to the lab with her, stayed there all day, and had lunch with her during her lunch break. He wanted dinner together, too?

“It's a Naples special, and I am a really good Italian chef.” Another message appeared.

“I’m tired, Enzo. I have to sleep,” she sent the message with a smiling emoji.

“Sure. How far along is your thesis, by the way?”

“Enzo, some other time, please”

“Sure, sure, you won’t have to pick me up for work from tomorrow, though; my brother returned my bike”

“Okay,” she put her phone aside. She knew it was rude of her not to answer properly, but this was her only free day. She didn’t want it wasted on discussions of how Aglio e Olio is made or how far along her thesis is.

She turned on her TV. Season two, episode seven. She had to recap the last few minutes of this episode to remember what had happened previously in the season. 

A couple more messages appeared on her phone. One of them was from Fritz. “Impressive report there.” He was a colleague and a friend.

The other was from Morgan, “Nice work, doctor”

Seher smiled at the message. “Not a doctor yet,” she replied. Morgan was her professor and a good friend.

“You left a letter at your desk in the classroom. Collect it from me tomorrow”

“Thanks for keeping it; I’ll get it”

“Enjoy your day,” Morgan answered.

Seher shifted her focus to the season again. The first name on the main cast always made her smile from ear to ear. The season had begun.

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

Wearing a shiny gold jacket over black pants, Alexander Parker Hudson sat comfortably in a sofa chair. The makeup artist was busy giving final touches to the celebrity’s nose. And the hairstylist was constantly hovering a blow dryer over his head. His PR manager, George, was almost yelling at everyone because the concert’s supposed starting time was about to approach.

Unbothered by all the noise around him, Alex Hudson was glued to his phone. With an AirPod in his right ear, playing his own twelve-year-old debut song, Blood on Deck, he was annoyed at the text he just received a few minutes ago.

“He hasn’t been out for so many days; it’s hard to keep tabs on him”, the text said.

“Make him come out; that’s what I pay you for”, he replied and sank deeper into his chair. Sighing tiredly. Something felt eerily wrong.

“Alex, it’s show time. Are you ready?” George jogged towards him, wearing a black suit and tie. As always.

Alex closed his eyes for a moment and clenched his jaw. He then looked at George with his deep blue eyes, grinning wide, “I was born ready”

With that, Alex Hudson jumped out of the sofa chair, moving from backstage to the front where a 100,000 crowd was waiting for him, chanting his name like a magical spell.

Alexander Parker Hudson was the biggest star of his time.

 

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

She was sitting in her office, signing many papers, when a message came in on her phone. “Happy birthday.” The writer picked up her phone and took a deep breath. Her phone had been ringing with the same message since morning. The only reason this message was special was because of the person who sent it.

“Thank you, doctor,” she replied with a smiley emoji.

Zoe looked up the last message sent to this chat. It was sent by her, eight months ago, the same message she received just now.

“Happy birthday, Zoe.” This message was five hours old. A picture was also attached to the message. A thirteen-year-old photograph of the writer. In this picture, she had short hair. Rubbing her puffy eyes with one hand and scratching her head with the other.

The writer did not answer, but a smile appeared on her lips. She put down the phone and picked up the pen again. There were still many signatures to be done. The phone rang one more time,

“Happy Birthday, Zoe.” The message came from Germany.

“Thank you, Seher,” She replied with a smile and put the phone back. Zoe Bruce tucked her hair behind her ears, put on her glasses and started signing the files again.

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE

 

“Hamza, you have a fax.” Emma walked up to her wearing a lab coat and gloves and held out a stack of papers.

Everyone here called each other by their surnames; Seher Hamza was called Hamza by all, unaware that it was a male name. Seher also never felt the need for correction; she had become so used to it in the last eight years.

“What did the path say, boss?” His assistant came up to him with a scalpel in hand. The pathology department was shortened and renamed Path.

“You were right; those were pieces of shrapnel.” Seher returned to her workstation, nodding in agreement.

“Close it up; it won’t give evidence anymore. Brandon, write the details in the file and send it to the police department. “Another body’s up.” Fritz hurried up to her, pulling on his gloves and holding a file. “Two bodies in one day? That’s rare in Berlin.” Brandon looked up from the file and saw the body on the stretcher and said:

“Fischer, come with me.” Seher dragged the stretcher to her office and put a white cloth on the body, covering it from the navel to the legs.

“Does this body have a history?” She questioned out loud.

“No, it was abandoned. The police department discovered it and sent it here,” Emma replied, putting her glasses on.

“That implies the time of death is yet to be known.” Seher took a deep breath, and she pulled on the gloves, signalling the start of work. She picked up the flashlight and examined the eyes; the pupils were dilated.

The body’s lips had turned purple, and the temperature was dropping. The fingers were also turning purple. Seher applied pressure with her finger on a specific point of the arm. When the finger was removed, a white circle was formed there. The flow of blood had stopped there. Fischer came running up to her.

“Body closed?” Seher was looking at the toes of the dead body with a magnifying glass.

“Done; the police will take the body and reports in a while,” He spoke softly.

“Well, get to work on this one. The time of death is between thirty-six and forty-eight hours. Collect fingerprints and extract a small amount for DNA testing.” Seher picked up the scalpel and carefully drew a line down the middle of the chest.

“Will we be done before lunch break?” Fischer asked cautiously. There was something about his boss that made her look scary, grim.

“A corpse has to be dissected, examined, the time of death, the manner of death, the cause of death; all history and evidence is yet to be extracted, and then each body organ has to be placed back one by one. The corpse has to be sealed and sent back to the police department. Christian Fischer, forget your lunch, dinner, and your date night with whatever girlfriend you’re seeing these days,” Seher replied by staring at him so badly that Fischer thought she would take out the heart from his chest.

“How far along is your thesis?” Fritz walked up to him.

“How much is your salary?” Seher asked without moving her head. Fischer was cutting the throat and examining the respiratory and alimentary tract.

“Never ask a man his salary.” Fritz smiled and shrugged.

“Never ask a PhD student about their thesis. Go do a DNA test on the body, see if it matches anyone in our records”

“Yes, ma’am.” He bowed his head respectfully and walked to his workstation, picking up the sample.

“Fischer, take the fingerprints; don't make me repeat”

“Yes, boss,” Fischer began collecting the fingerprints and footprints.

“You’re having lunch with me.” A message rang on Seher’s phone.

She called that number. “You text me one more time during my working hours, and I will block you,” Seher answered the phone bluntly. Her tone silenced the entire lab.

The phone started to ring again, this time from another number.

“Fischer, my phone must not ring again. I’ll deduct your salary if it happens.” Seher took a deep breath and began to dissect the body further. Fischer immediately put Seher’s phone on airplane mode. He couldn’t afford the deduction.

“Dr Hamza, you have a call.” The receptionist walked up to him. She was out of breath. There was no lift in the three-storey building; everyone had to climb the stairs. Seher’s department was at the top.

“Fifty euros a day will be deducted from anyone’s salary who calls me a doctor before my PhD is finished,” Seher announced and took the phone from the receptionist.

“Enzo, don't call again, or I'll be worse off,” Seher said angrily, putting the phone to her ear.

“Lorenzo Giovanni De Luca bothering you?” A familiar chirping voice spoke from the other end of the phone.

Seher smiled upon hearing the voice; it wasn’t Enzo. It was an old, dear, dear friend. “You can't call during my working hours.” The anger had just vanished.

“Sí, señorita, free for lunch?” He wasn’t bothered by the insult. A wave of joy spread all over Seher’s face. She had thousands of questions in his mind. When did he come to Germany? How long will he be around? What will he eat? Should I bake brownies? She held her smile under her lips. Seher had to maintain the image of a tough boss.

“Free for dinner, come home, and don't call again; I'm busy,” Seher replied, handing the phone back.

“Can I really not call you, doctor?” As Fischer probed the alimentary canal, he questioned Seher’s declared threat again. “Good, minus fifty euros,” Seher answered without answering the question.

“What?” Fischer's scalpel stopped there.

“The scalpel must not stop, Fischer.” Fischer made a bad face and continued the examination. Seher was also with him. There wasn’t any place left in the body that they had not cut and examined. Everyone in her department had left for lunch; she had sent Fischer off too, and she herself was completely engrossed in her work.

Lunch break was over, and tea break too. Everyone had returned to their places, and now everyone was going home.

“Any progress?” Fischer came up to her, wiping his hands with a towel. He also had his bag on his shoulder.

“It’s a night’s work. Come early tomorrow morning.”

“If you say, I will stay for the night,” he said half-heartedly.

“I know you’re saying that out of courtesy, so let it be. Thanks for the offer”

“Okay, bye.” He rushed towards the exit door.

And now Seher Hamza was sitting alone in a building at midnight, cutting a corpse. Twelve years ago, if someone had even asked her to go to the cemetery after eight o'clock, she would have cried her eyes out, and now she spent half the day and half the night among the dead. She didn’t know what had changed in those years, or what had remained the same. The phrase “life changes so fast” seemed strange when her parents said this, and now she realised that life really goes by very quickly.

“Aren't you afraid?” A heavy voice came from behind. Seher screamed in fear. She left the scalpel and put her hands on her ears. She was short of breath. The person whose voice it was gently hugged her from behind, “Don’t be so scared, chocolate,” and whispered in his ear. He spoke in a neatly polished British accent.

“Doel?” Seher quickly turned back. Both shock and surprise filled her eyes.

“You said we would have dinner together.”

“How did the guard let you in?” She couldn't believe her eyes.

“I signed his shirt.” He smiled and shrugged. Seher's smile was getting more and more beautiful.

“What are you doing in Germany?”

“I had a shoot in Frankfurt, thought of seeing you before leaving. Can we sit somewhere else? Somewhere away from this corpse?” He was standing well away from the cadaver. Seher smiled, seeing his discomfort; not everyone was comfortable with the dead.

“Come to my office”

“I came to eat brownies. Today’s my cheat day.” He followed Seher into the office.

“I have a case to solve. We can make them when we go home”

“I am here for twenty-five minutes; a flight is waiting for me on the runway.” He smiled sadly.

“Oh, Doel Wilson, you and your never-ending commitments”

“Stop calling me Doel; it sounds weird. Alexander Hudson’s the name. Call me Alex,” he winked.

“I’m not calling you that. Wanna eat?”

“Nope, I ate.” Placing both hands on the table, he sighed. There was a tattoo on his left arm from the elbow to the wrist. It was a proverb, maybe in Latin or Greek. It wasn’t there the last time Seher met Doel. Must have been a new one.

“I’ll eat when I’m done closing my corpse. So how’s life? Heard you're getting married? To that Lorenzo Giovanni De Luca?”

“God, how do you even know his full name? Even I didn’t know that”

“I have hired a private investigator to keep an eye on you; that’s how,” Doel shrugged with a wink.

Seher chuckled at that. “No, no marriage plans yet”

“How’s everyone else?”

“Well, I mostly talk to you and Charlotte. So I don't know much about the rest”

“Hmm… nice. You know I don’t believe that”

Doel nodded joyfully, “Of course. What ‘bout you? Dying single? You’re thirty, right? I have some people up my list…” He smiled mischievously.

“I’d rather die than marry someone of your choice. And yes, I’m thirty,” she had no shame in telling her age. It is what it is. Doel shook his head and laughed out loud. He looked better than in his university days. He had shed any excess weight and now had a well-defined, lean physique. Today, he was clean-shaven because the character he was playing was clean-shaven. His hair was dyed chocolate brown, trimmed in a faded cut. They were a little longer than usual. Doel had striking, deep blue eyes.

“My choice? It’s far, far better than yours. The guy you were engaged to cheated on you and married someone else, and the guy you loved broke your heart as well as your bones; might as well reflect on that”

Seher glared at him with a raised eyebrow, then laughed. “Touché, Triple P.”

Doel laughed too. “How’s Waleed?”

“He’s good.” The deep pit of sadness she had covered in her heart resurfaced. Waleed.

“Great, what else?”

Seher shrugged, “Same old.” They were running out of words. Meeting after a couple of years, they should’ve had years' worth of gossip to catch up on. But now it seemed they had nothing to talk about.

“Doel, take that money from me, please. That debt’s a huge burden on me,” Seher said after a while of silence.

“I won’t take that money, chocolate. I didn't do you any favours, nor was it debt”

“It takes a lifetime to earn three hundred thousand euros; you gave me that hefty amount in an instant. At least let me give that back”

“It takes a lifetime to make such friends, luv,” He smiled softly.

“I have been collecting this money for twelve years, and haven’t spent a single cent other than my necessities. My only goal has been to pay you back. You’ll break my heart if you don’t”

“Stop being overdramatic, Seher. I’m not taking this money; pay your mortgage with it. Or buy a Ferrari, or go on a vacation,” he presented a couple of options.

“Thanks for the option; my mortgage is almost complete. I have a car. And I have no desire to go on vacation.”

“Come on, girl, Italy? Spain? Greece? Amsterdam? You don’t wanna go anywhere?” He was surprised by her introverted nature.

Seher shook her head, “Nope”

“Then invest it somewhere. I won't take it. “I don't want this money”

“And I won’t take the money, because it's not mine. George's calling, I’ll have to leave”

“Where to?”

“Paris,” he smiled.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” she said.

“No need. You have a corpse to chop.” his tone had a hint of discomfort.

Seher chuckled, “It’s okay, Doel; dead people aren’t that dangerous, far less than the living”

Doel nodded in agreement, “You’re right there. Take care, chocolate.” He smiled, the dimples of his cheeks appearing.

“See you soon, bubble gum. Thanks for showing up.” She smiled too.

“I miss you a lot,” he said, left the office, and went down the stairs.

Seher, too, got up with a deep breath and returned to her workstation. A corpse was waiting for her.

Apart from his funky nature, the only thing Seher disliked about Doel was his refusal to pay the debt. He would never accept the money.

Doel had paid tons of money for Seher’s treatment.  The total cost was around 300,000 euros. And now, after twelve years, when Seher had collected enough money to pay off his debt, he had refused to take it back. She didn't know what to do with it now.

Her treatment took a year in Australia and one in England. Doel paid all the expenses, although he couldn’t be there because of his work. But even for the money, Seher was grateful to him for life.

 

CHAPTER SIX

 

“You won’t find a single colour here except black,” Kevin grumbled and closed the closet. Rachel was standing behind him, sneaking into the closet.

Someone entered from behind. “You should keep an eye on your academic performance rather than having eyes for my wardrobe. You failed moral science?” He walked up to them, pulling the sleeves of his black dress shirt up to his elbows.

“I have very good moral values; passing a subject isn’t necessary, is it?” Kevin shrugged.

“Good… now, your phone”

“Eoin, please no.” Kevin's tone was suddenly apologetic.

“Your PlayStation,” Eoin continued to speak carelessly.

“This is domestic abuse,” Kevin protested.

“Your Wi-Fi.” He folded his arms on his chest and said.

“Do you not fear God?”

“Your bike’s key.”

“Please note that.” Kevin was about to cry.

“That’s enough, Dad.” Rachel favoured his uncle.

“Good, Rich, put your phone, chessboard, and bicycle in my room as well. You are both grounded for a week”

“Eoin, that’s very harsh”

“One more word and I will set your football signed by Messi on fire”

“I won't say anything.” Kevin was shushed.

“You aren’t even in a position to say anything, and you haven’t left me either.” Rachel elbowed Kevin in the ribs.

“Did I ask you to advocate for me?”

“You’d be grounded for a month if it wasn’t for me.” Rachel glared at Kevin.

“You both can bicker outside my room,” Eoin said gravely, pointing at the door.

Kevin and Rachel sighed.

“Let's wash the cars,” Kevin said. Being grounded was usually a routine.

“If there is even a single scratch on any of my cars.”

“You’ll burn my chessboard,” Rachel sighed. “You’ll burn my football,” Kevin said. Both knew their fate well.

“Close the door,” he said, then sat on his bed and opened his laptop. Several tabs were open on it. There was a sales chart, a software graph, and another sales chart. And he was working on all three together with great skill. The room's dim lights watched him, engrossed in his work. His hair slid down his forehead. Eoin’s dark green eyes were narrowed with busyness.

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

 

The architect opened his eyes, and the room was completely dark. He removed the blanket from his legs; his whole body was drenched in sweat. Turned to the left, turned on the side lamp, picked up the phone, and checked the time. It was 3:00 a.m. It was the 16th.  He slept on the 14th. He’d been asleep for over 48 hours. The body was breaking with pain. His legs were swollen, and his head was heavy. He woke up from his slumber after quite a while, and yet there was no improvement in his condition. The fatigue wasn’t going away. He could barely open his eyes. The guy got out of bed, picked up the jug of water on the side, and was just about to fill the glass when his hands started shaking, and the glass shattered into a million tiny pieces.

He screamed in pain and hit the jug so hard that it broke and slid through his fingers. His hand was bleeding. The fatigue was too much to bear. He didn’t have the energy to get up and put a plaster on his fingers. He took a capsule from a small bottle in the drawer next to him.  Swallowed it without water and lay down again. Another wave of sleep had engulfed him. The slumber had begun.

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

“Can you see Blake for today?” She had the phone to her ear, busy going through some files.

“I'm going to India tomorrow, Charlotte. I'm busy,” came a voice across the phone. His voice was deep and cold, with a typical Sydney accent.

“Just for tonight,” she pressed.

“Are you going on a date?” He sounded interested.

“None of your business, Taylor. Can you see Blakely or not? Or else, I leave her with a friend.”

“I’ll pick her up,” he sighed.

“Good”

“Bye.” He cut the call. Taylor was just as interested in her personal life as he was years ago. She freed her hair from the clip and waved it. She buttoned up her coat and got up from her chair. Charlotte Alexander had a date today.

 

CHAPTER NINE

 

“Thanks for keeping the letter. I wonder how I missed an envelope on my desk today. I always check before leaving” Closing the car door, she spoke into her AirPods.

She had a box of Aglio e Olio in one hand and several books in the other. The car key was dangling from her pinky finger.

“That was rather careless of you, Seher”, Morgan replied seriously.

She entered the house carrying her things, and the lounge lit up. “I know”

“Today, Seher Hamza, you will focus only on your thesis,” she announced, entering the lounge and slamming her books on the sofa. 

She went to the kitchen and took out a glass of juice from the fridge.

“You’re writing on fingerprint science, right?” Morgan asked.

“Yes”, she answered while gulping down the glass of juice. She could hear the constant tapping of the keyboard from Morgan’s end. She was writing the thesis of her fourth PhD.

“The letter’s from Angeloff?” Morgan asked busily.

“Hm hm”, Seher nodded, putting the pasta box on the counter. “I better eat Enzo's pasta today, or he’ll eat me up.” She muttered.

“Opened it yet?”

“Not yet”

“I heard you’re selling your car”

“Wanna buy?” She asked.

“Thinking? I just sold my Ducati. Your car is in good condition. And I expect a discount too.” Morgan was munching on dry fruits, as always.

“Expect anything from me except a discount.” She came to her bedroom carrying her food.

Three walls of her room were painted lilac, one in sweet almond. She had painted her entire house by herself. The room wasn’t much decorated, apart from those eighty-one pocket-sized black-and-white frames mounted on one wall. She touched the first frame with her fingers and kissed it as she entered the room.

‘Al Rahman’ was written with black ink on this frame. Its English translation was also provided below: "The Merciful".

Smiling, she sat on her bed and kept the box of pasta in front of her.

“A good psychologist and a decent chef - impressive, Enzo,” she muttered.

“I don't want the details of the car, Seher. It’s your car, which means it’s a good car. Should I assume it as a yes then?”

“Sure, I haven’t received a call from a good buyer yet. I’ll leave you a couple of grands. Deal?”

“Deal. Let's meet tomorrow. And let me know what that letter said”

“Will do”

“Okay, I have a lecture to deliver; see you tomorrow”

“Bye, Morgan.” She cut the call. The pasta was going cold.

Pasta can wait. She walked to the lounge and picked up the letter placed on her dining table.

Seher ripped it open. The sender’s name was written on it in bold letters.

Bruce Armin Angeloff,

Vice President,

UNESCO.

“UNESCO?” She was apparently confused. Seher opened the envelope and took out the letter. Seher opened up the letter and started reading it. It was hard to read; the official language was usually tough to comprehend.

When she was done reading it, her face lit up with smiles and joy. She waved the letter in the air and shouted.

“Amsterdam, here I come”

She got up and strode to her bedroom, went to the sixteenth of eighty-one frames on the lilac wall, smiled at it, and gave it a small peck. The frame said ‘Al Wahhab’, meaning ‘The Bestower’. Her long-lost wish to see the world was supposed to start from Amsterdam.

 

CHAPTER TEN

 

Sitting beside the window, in his fancy private jet, he was just staring at his phone’s black screen.

‘I am 110% certain. Forwarding you the reports.

The message he received last night had haunted him. His entire crew was with him.

How long had he been thinking whether to call or not? He gave it a quick thought and just tapped the dial option.

“Hello?” A sweet but serious voice came from the other side.

“Hey, Ms Melbourne,” Doel said with a little less enthusiasm than usual.

“Oh, bubble gum? How are you?” Charlotte chirped at the sound.

“Hope you're not busy,” He spoke slowly.

“No, no, just wrapping things up. I heard the concert had record ticket sales. How was it?” Charlotte always kept track of his success.

“Good,” he smiled. “Just a little tired. How’s Blake?”

“Blakely’s good,  misses you. Taylor just dropped her home.”

“Oh, she was with Taylor yesterday.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Great.” Doel fell silent after that. 

“Hello?”

“Doel?”

“Yes, I’m there.” Doel was speaking in a low voice, which was very unusual for him.

“Do you sound worried?” Charlotte paused her packing and sat comfortably in her office chair. Addressing Doel’s problems was more important.

.No, nothing. Can I ask you something?” He was hesitant.

“I’m all ears.”

“Do you remember Aldert? Aldert Thomz David?” Doel had a low tone.

There was a rush of memories at the sound of this name. That thick, beautiful, dark brown hair, those serious eyes, that tall build, that shoulder-to-wrist dragon tattoo, that sweaty gym physique.

You, Charlotte Alexander, are the right person at the wrong time. She could almost hear Aldert say it.

“How can I ever forget Aldert?” A sad smile appeared on Charlotte’s lips.

“Are you still in contact with him?”

“No,” she sighed. “Aldert burned all the bridges before leaving for Denmark. Never heard from him since. Is everything okay? Why’re you asking?”

“I visited La Sagrada Familia yesterday”

“What’s that?” Charlotte asked.

“The world's largest and oldest unfinished cathedral. It’s in Spain”

“So?” Charlotte couldn’t understand the connection.

“People admire the architect of this building very much. It has been over a century since he died.”

“Yes, because Gaudí was a brilliant architect. What’s the big deal with it?”

“Do you remember, Affan used to say, the buildings built by Aldert will be remembered for ages too. So he just crossed my mind.”

“I understand, but none of us has any contact with him,” she said, sounding sad.

“I just wanna meet him once, see what he's up to. If he’s happy or not”

“I never listened to anything he said. I want to keep the promise of not contacting him again”

“I get it, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, bubble gum.”

“We’re good, cream puff,” he smiled. It was the right call to phone Charlotte.

“Pass him a message from me, will you?”

“Go ahead.”

“Tell him he was right about everything, except for one.”

“What was he wrong about?” Doel raised an eyebrow. His tone was mischievous.

Charlotte laughed wholeheartedly. “You haven’t changed a bit, Triple P.”

“How can I?” He chuckled.

“Take care of yourself.”

“Bye, cream puff.” he hung up.

If Doel were serious about finding out about Aldert, he would even dig him up and retrieve his address. She knew him well. Little did she know that Doel had been in touch with him throughout.

She picked up the phone and opened the gallery. Along with the old pictures came old memories. She kept on swiping pictures, and her eyes moistened. Those were the golden days of life.

Doel, on the other side, sighed. Shouldn’t have lied to her, he thought.

 

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

“Professor Hart told me about your conference at UNESCO; congratulations there,” a junior ran up to her. Seher was walking towards her car, carrying both hands full of books.

“Yeah, they liked a couple of my published reports.” She couldn’t help holding back her smile.

“Nice work”

“Thanks, you need something?”

He replied with a nod. “Yes, actually, your MS notes about DNA isolation”

“You won’t have them for free,” she said as she opened her car door.

“I know, you’ll have my day,” he answered conveniently.

“Why would I need your day?” She spoke busily.

“You’re selling your car to Professor Morgan Hart. I assume you’re buying a new one too. I’m an ex-corporate lawyer. I’ll help you with the paperwork. Without charging a fee, the smile was cunning.

“Okay, I'll fax them”

“See you”.He smiled at her and went back.

Seher sat in the car and reversed it out of the parking lot when her phone rang. She smiled as the name flashed on the screen. She picked up the phone. The car automatically connected to Bluetooth.

“Assalam o Alaikum Phupho,” a couple of voices shouted together.

“Walaikum Salam, my babies.” Seher nodded at their greetings.

“So what’s up?”

“I am preparing for my test,” Hareem replied. Hareem was the eldest daughter of Waleed. Waleed was Seher’s brother. She had just turned twelve last month.

“Wow, that’s great. What about you, Zara?”

“I am cleaning my wound,” she replied with a grin. Her brown eyes seemed to be full of anger. She was about eight years old.

“What wound?”

“A kid in my class hit me with a compass”

“That’s bad. Did he say sorry?”

Zara shook her head. “No, he didn’t”

“Phupho, she fought him first; it’s a day-to-day routine for her now,” Shayan answered. “How’re you?” She asked as she turned the car left.

“All good, waiting for you to come to Pakistan; you promised to take us to Hunza.”

“I asked you to cut your hair; I don’t see it trimmed”

“Why’s everyone so bothered by my hair?” He counter-questioned. He was in his teens, his voice growing coarse, and a couple of inches taller than his father. His face was covered in acne. Black, wavy hair tied in a rubber band.

“You look like a druggie,” Zara said, making a mean comment.

“You say that one more time and…”

“Okay, that’s enough, stop fighting,” Seher tried to resolve the conflict.

There was another call on line, Enzo.

“Guys, I have to go. I’ll call you later,” She cut the call without waiting for a reply and picked up Enzo’s phone.

“Yes, Enzo?”

“I faxed you a couple of DNA reports. Make sure to have a look”

“Will do. That’s all?”

“Can you pick me up tomorrow?”

Seher sighed, “Okay, Enzo, I’ll do that too. Ask Fischer to reboot and update my system’s software”

“I can do that too”

“Fischer works under me. He’s supposed to do that,” Seher said dismissively and cut the call. After a three-hour lecture on DNA imprinting, she didn’t have enough energy to entertain this clownery.

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

 

“Eoin?” Kevin slowly sat down next to his brother. Eoin was working in his garage. Half leaned towards the open bonnet of a Chevrolet. His hands were covered in grease. He had a pair of pliers in his hand. 

“Speak up, KV,” he replied without looking at him.

“Dr Wilson texted…”

“I'm fine, KV”, Eoin fired back at him. These sudden bursts of anger were something everyone in this house got used to. “Why didn't you go to school?” He changed his tone when he realised he was being rude.

“Prep leaves,” he said, shrugging. His oversized grey tee said, “Seize the Day”.

“Then go prep”, he shot him another angry look.

“Shall I pick up Rich from school?”

“ You’re not getting your bike for another three days”

“Uh huh, okay.” He shrugged and turned back to leave. Engaging Eoin in conversation was never easy.

“Stand aside; I’ll talk to you when I am done.” he cleaned his dirty hand with an even dirtier cloth.

“You always keep me standing for hours saying this, and then you forget that I am even here. Stop with this charade, Eoin.” he couldn’t yell at his brother, no matter how angry Kevin was.

“Stop with the lectures, KV. If you need anything, just let me know”

“Stop distancing yourself from us, Eoin. I’m sick and tired of this behaviour of yours, and so is Rachel.”

“So you’re both teaming up against me?” He showed no signs of emotion. A cold tone and a cold face. 

“Aren’t you tired of fixing these damned car batteries?” Kevin kicked the chair he was sitting on.

“Well, what else am I supposed to fix then?” Eoin left the pliers and turned towards him, his arms folded on his chest.

“Your mind.”

“My mind’s good, KV.”

“No, it isn’t. It was good before Harry died.”

“Do not talk to me about Harry.” his ears turned red.

“You’re running away from your grief, Eoin; it’s not…”

“What is it you need, Kevin?” Eoin shouted.

Kevin sighed, “Old home…”

“KV. That’s some mighty thin ice,” Eoin warned him.

“Everything’s mighty thin ice with you”, he mumbled. “I want to go to Spain”, he said out loud.

“You’re seventeen; I decide what’s best for you. You can go wherever you want once you turn eighteen. I won’t ask even if you go to hell”

“This house is nothing less than hell for me”

“Get out then,” he said, shrugging. His careless tone was enough to hurt anybody. He didn’t need to shout to hurt him.

“You have become a control freak, Eoin,” he said, trying to hide the pain in his eyes.

Eoin took a deep breath. “I have a grocery list in my kitchen; get those things”

 Kevin didn’t have anything else to say. “Cool”, he replied and left the garage. Eoin was still busy fixing the batteries.

Eoin slammed the bonnet shut. The battery had been fixed. He took out a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his hands, and picked up the phone. “Mrs Han, your princess is fixed. You can pick it up in the evening.” He wrote a message and put the phone back in his pocket. Now he had to fix his own car.

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

“Aldert David?” He stood at the reception wearing a baseball cap and a mask.

“Mr David's penthouse is closed today, sir,” The receptionist answered busily.  seriously.

“Oh come on, I know he's in; everyone’s forbidden to go there.” He softened his tone. The receptionist looked at the strange man from head to toe. White check shirt and cargo jeans. A cap on the head and a mask on the face. As if he were afraid of being recognised. There was something surreal about that guy, something mesmerising. His deep blue eyes spoke more than words.

“I’m sorry, Sir, we can’t violate our residents’ wishes.”

“How about we make a deal?” Doel leaned forward a little more towards the receptionist. 

“What deal?” The receptionist raised an eyebrow.

“I take a picture with you, and you let me meet Mr David?” The receptionist could not see the smile behind the mask.

“Why do you think I would have any interest in taking a picture with you?” She frowned.

“Everyone’s interested in taking a picture with me, dear.” Shrugging, he took off his cap and mask. He waved his chocolate brown hair and smiled. Both the dimples on his cheeks looked like deep pits.

The receptionist, who had been staring blankly at the screen in front of her, froze when she saw Alexander Hudson. Doel’s smile deepened at the girl's surprise.

“Oh my God, Alex”

“Shhh, speak slowly, please,” he said, hushed. “Can I get a selfie? Can you sign my shirt too, please? I just want to attend your concert once before I die. Your voice...”

“Marker?” The receptionist quickly picked up the marker and handed it to him. Doel stepped forward and signed her sleeve.

“You look even better in person.” The girl was blushing.

“I know,” he winked. “Can you take me to Aldert now?”

“Of course, Mr David isn't working today. By the way, you want them to design your new home, don't you? I saw on my Instagram that you’re looking for a good architect to design your new house.

“Aldert is an old friend, actually; I came to see him.” Doel put the cape and mask back on. “You have come from Paris just to see a friend?” She had a look of disbelief in her eyes.

“I'm in a bit of a hurry, dear.” his apology had a charm of its own.

“Oh, ok, you can go”, the girl smiled nervously.

Thank you, dear.” Answering with a nod, Doel left the reception and went to the lobby. He took an elevator to the top floor. He was finally standing in front of Aldert’s penthouse.

The voice echoed in his head again. He hadn’t left his house in the past week; these are the reports.

And another text replaying before his eyes. I checked everything, even met the doctor. Your guy doesn’t have much time.

Doel went ahead and rang the bell; he was clearly anxious.

The door didn't open. Doel knocked again. The door didn’t open yet again. He knocked again.

“I didn't ask for any room service, Ashley; you can-” A weak voice came from behind the door.

“I'm not Ashley Aldert. Can we—”  Doel cleared his throat and said cautiously. It was obvious that Aldert didn’t recognise his voice; it had been years since he last heard from him.

“No”, he answered rudely and turned away. There were sounds of footsteps moving away from the door.

“Aldert, please, it’s urgent.” Doel began pounding on his door.

“Get out.” A soft voice came from the other side. Was he not shouting? Or could he not?

“I'm not leaving until you open the door, Aldert. I don't care how long it takes,, and Doel Wilson began knocking, pounding on the door. The one-quiet-door was echoing with pounding. He kept going breathlessly till his fists went numb.

After an hour or so of trying, he finally sat down on his doorstep, exhausted and breathing hard.

“Damn you, protein shake”, he cussed under his breath.

Doel took out a small golden piece of metal from his pocket. It was a little golden man standing with both his hands joined. It was the Oscar.

“See that Oscar? Not even my friends open doors for me. What am I supposed to do with this success?” He pulled his phone out of the other pocket and called George. He picked up as soon as the first bell rang.

“You should be in LA right now. What are you doing in Copenhagen?” George was furious. Doel flew the jet to Denmark without letting his secretary know.

“Who is my next shoot with and when?” Doel, as usual, did not listen to him. George being furious was nothing new.

“With Armani, three days later. There's an interview in the evening, Alex. You're running around with an Oscar in your pocket like it's candy. And you brought no security. Come back, I'll talk to the pilot.”

“I’ll give the interview on FaceTime. Let me know ten minutes before it starts”

“Are you nuts or something?” George felt he’d lose his mind.

“And uhh…” Doel scratched his head, “I might not be able to do the shoot with Armani. Something personal came up”

“Your personal work never ends. Armani wants you; they’ve been waiting patiently for your schedule to be cleared”

“I’ll agree to shoot if they agree to come to Copenhagen.” He was still sitting at Aldert’s door.

“Alex, there must be discipline at work.” George was tired of lecturing him. “Armani will not come to Copenhagen with its entire team for you”

“Then why should I come to LA for them?”

“This is about the Oscar, isn't it?”

“What?” Doel asked in confusion.

“You’re ignoring them on purpose, aren’t you? You’re being an attention seeker, Alex; you knew your career would skyrocket after winning the Oscar. This behaviour isn’t acceptable for me,” George warned him.

“George, please, you’ve been with me for the past eight years. You know I never compromise on my work. I say such things to annoy you sometimes because that’s my only distraction. I never actually took a break from work, did I? And today, when I need a break, you talk to me like I am a bloody druggie who’s struggling to make his way through rehab. Oscar was never my goal, dammit,” Doel fired back. His ears turned red. George was a dedicated employee, but he sometimes just crossed his limits.

George remained silent. Alex wasn't really irresponsible enough to skip work and go on vacations just like that. “For how long will your break last?” George asked. He had no other option.

“I need time, time to see an old friend. I may not be able to make it for three days. Ask Colin if my shoot can be postponed; if not, give it to someone else”

“Are you okay, Alex?” George was worried about his boss.

“Of course. Take care.” Doel hung up. He sighed, got up, and walked back down to the reception.

“Mr David didn't open the door, did he?” Ashley, the receptionist, was looking at him with longing eyes. She still couldn’t believe the guy who won an Oscar last night in Paris was in front of her in Copenhagen right now.

Doel took a deep breath. “No. But I have to meet him; can we make a way?” he pressed.

Ashley blushed. Did he just say we? Are we a team?

“His medicine refills are supposed to come the day after tomorrow. Can you wait until then?”

“Medicines? What happened to him?” Doel raised his eyebrows in concern, hiding his smirk. He was an actor after all.

“Not sure”, she shook her head. “But he gets a refill every two weeks. You will have to wait until after-tomorrow”

“The day after tomorrow? He took a deep breath. “I’ll have to cancel my shoot”

“What difference does it make to you to cancel a shoot?”

“It’s not about the money.” He leaned forward and read his name written on the badge. “Ashley, It's about the commitment.”  Ashley blushed when she heard her name slip from his lips. No one had ever called him so affectionately.

“Well, I am giving a refill of his medicine today”

“He... he won't open the door.” Ashley knew every resident of the building.

“I’ll break it.” Doel shrugged and leaned forward. He knew leaning forward would make Ashley nervous. “Come with me, Ashley, please. I have to meet Alde Shee?” She felt she had misheard.

“Yes, Ashley, you. Just get it opened for me”.

“I’ll lose my job.”

“I’ll give you one if you lose this, I promise.” Ashley nodded. The celebrity’s charm hypnotised her. She was star-struck. She shrugged. “Got a selfie with Alex Hudson, how could today be any better?”

She left the reception empty and walked with Doel to Aldert's penthouse.

Reaching upstairs, she knocked on the door. “Mr David?”

“Ashley, I don't need anything, thanks”, came a voice from within.

“Your refill has arrived early”

No response came. There were some sounds, some falling, some breaking, then some silence, then the sound of footsteps. Suddenly, the door opened, and a weak arm came out from inside. “My refills?” That's all he said, holding out his hand.

“Thanks, Ashley”, Doel whispered in Ashley's ear and quickly pushed open the door and entered.

“What the hell? Who are you?” That person inside could not bear this push. He was lying face down some distance from the door. The fall hit him badly.

Doel felt embarrassed; he shouldn’t have come in with such a push. He knelt next to the guy. Taking off his mask and hat, Doel brushed his hair with his hands.

“Sorry, I shouldn't have pushed. Why is it so dark here?” He was truly apologetic.

There wasn’t a single light in the penthouse. The glass windows going up to the roof were also blackened.

“Get out!” He shouted.

“How have you been, protein shake?” Doel had a faint smile.

“Get out, get out of my house”, the man said angrily as he fell on the ground, trying to get up. Doel leaned forward to help.

The man was wearing only shorts; he was shirtless. He had a cap on his head and three or four days' worth of stubble. A tattoo ran down from his left shoulder to his wrist—a black dragon tattoo.

Doel helped him up. He stood up, took a deep breath, and shook his neck.

“Recognised me?” Doel stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. His body was on fire.

“The whole world recognises you, Alex Hudson.” Aldert waved off his hand in response.

“What have you done to yourself, Aldi?” Doel was worried.

“I'm good, you can go.” He walked with the wall’s support. His back was bent like an eighty-year-old's. Aldert moved steadily towards the lounge. It was painted in shades of grey and black.

Doel followed. He sat down on the front sofa facing him.

“What happened to you, Aldert?” Doel couldn’t believe his eyes; Aldert was the tallest of them, the best physique, the fittest, the finest.

And now, a yellow, dull, pale face. His facial bones had begun to emerge around the eyes. His arms used to be bulky, pure muscle.  And now he was a walking skeleton. His hands, fingers, feet, and toes were swollen. There were injury marks on his body.

“Aldert, you're not okay. Tell me what's going on, please.” Doel was concerned. He had a worried look on his face.

“None of your business, Alex. Get out of here”, Aldert grunted.

“Stop calling me Alex; it sounds like an insult.” Doel got up from his couch and sat next to him.

“Get out of my house, Doel. I'll call the police.” Aldert turned at him quickly and grabbed him by the collar.

“I won't go, and you can't treat a celebrity like that.” Doel tried to grab his collar, but he wasn't wearing a shirt.

“This is not your multi-million dollar Los Angeles farmhouse; this is my property, AND YOU’RE TRESPASSING”, Aldert shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Yes, I did, and you won't get me out, Aldert David. Tell me what happened to you, I mean ... I already know what happened. Just want to hear it from you.” Doel pushed him hard, causing Aldert to stagger and fall off the couch. He couldn't bear the force of that push.

Doel immediately got up from the couch and sat next to him on the floor. “Aldert?”

Aldert slapped Doel hard.  A “thud” sound echoed in the entire lounge. Doel looked at him in disbelief.

Aldert's patience was matchless. He never even laid a finger on anyone unless he was extremely infuriated. He had seen Aldert get angry on very few occasions in his life. Aldert had hit him only once, and he couldn’t speak for days. His jaw was locked.

But today, Doel wasn't in the slightest bit of pain. Aldert's hands were almost lifeless. They had no strength.

“Will you leave or not?” Aldert tried to grab Doel again, but his arms wouldn't cooperate.

“I would have left, but not now. Look at you. Tell me what happened to you, or I will call everyone here.” Doel was very stubborn.

“Get out, Duel!” Aldert shouted and slapped Doel again.

Doel stepped forward and grabbed Aldert by the shoulders. “Enough, Aldert. Not laying a hand on you doesn't mean you keep hitting me. You're happy alone, I know, but you need me now, and I won't leave you like you left us all”

“Get lost”, He mumbled. He was breathing heavily. Doel immediately got up, fetched a bottle of water from the table in front of him, and handed it to Aldert.

He gulped it down and emptied the entire bottle in a minute.

“Come on, protein shake.” Doel gently placed a hand on his shoulder. His patience was really being tested here.

Aldert shot him an angry look, paused for a while, let out a couple of burps, and then ran towards the kitchen bin.  Doel followed him too.

 Aldert was hunched over the kitchen bin, throwing up.

“Aldi? Should I call a doctor?” Doel was sitting bent over, gently rubbing his forehead.

Aldert shook his head. “Water… give me water.” he was running, short of breath.

Doel was getting worried seeing this. “Copy that.” Aldert vomited again. Doel immediately filled a glass of water from the kitchen sink and brought it to him. Aldert took a capsule box from his shorts pocket with trembling hands, swallowed a capsule, and emptied the glass of water in his throat.

Pulling a tissue from his pocket, Doel wiped Aldert's forehead. He was sweating even in Denmark's cold temperatures.

He wiped Aldert's face and placed the glass of water back on the shelf.

“Who would believe that Alex Hudson is the personal nurse of an unemployed architect?”

“God, I wanna punch you so bad.” Doel took a deep breath and helped Aldert up.

“How did you even find me?” he was annoyed.

“What pill did you take?” Doel asked as he sat him down on the couch in the lounge, ignoring his question.

“Of poison”, Aldert groaned in pain while lying down.

“Good, I’ll leave if you die.” He shrugged and sat on the floor next to him. Aldert closed his eyes; the deep slumber had begun yet again.

“Oh, dead so soon?” Doel checked his carotid pulse.

“Oh, you slept. Come on, I'm waiting for you to wake up,” he checked the time on his silver Jacob and Co. limited edition watch. It was 4:57 p.m. The watch was a gift from a Sheikh of Dubai, who had allotted Doel his palace for a music video shoot last year.

Doel brought a pillow from Aldert’s bedroom upstairs and placed it under his head. He also spread a blanket over his legs. Today it had snowed in Copenhagen; everything was covered in white. The cold was at its peak. Doel went upstairs again; the central heating had been turned off.

“I don't know how this idiot is living in such cold.” Doel’s hands were turning blue from the cold. He opened Aldert's closet and looked for a jacket. After a little quest, he found a brown leather jacket.

“Cool, now I gotta see a good place for my little friend.” He put on the jacket and walked out of the room. Adjacent to his bedroom was Aldert’s study. Doel went to the study room.

The room was pitch black. He tried to turn on the lights, but they had been taken down on purpose, it seemed. Doel had to use his phone’s flashlight.

In front of him was a huge rack of books, and above that was a wooden shelf. He took the Oscar out of his pocket and placed it there, next to Aldert's MS degree.

“Oh wow, Protein Shake has an MS from University College London, nice.” He picked up the framed degree and looked at it. He was proud of Aldert for coming so far.

“Now I'd better order food”, he chirped.  The thought of food always made Doel Wilson smile. He called room service and ordered food. All he had to do now was wait for Aldert to wake up.

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

 

“Qasim, where did you get that brain?” Ali Asghar smiled and asked as he passed him the sandwich.

Dr Hafiz Shiraz Ali Asghar Hydari was an old friend and a colleague. Both came together from Iran for this workshop. Ali Asghar was from Tehran and was eight years older than Affan Qasim. He was a cardio thoracic surgeon.

“Don’t know, just got lucky”, Affan simply replied with a shrug. Ali Asghar and Affan Qasim were working on the same case. And Affan's recommended surgery had narrowly saved the patient from permanent brain damage.

“You never praise yourself. Why?”

“Force of habit”, Affan shrugged and smiled.

“Someone must have tried to change this habit of yours?” He leaned forward with interest.

Affan smiled sadly and shook his head. “How is Ali Akbar? How is Surya Jaan?” Affan asked about his children.

“Ali Akbar is the reason I will die before the average age. He wants to be a DJ. His mind has gone bad. I don’t recall a day when we didn’t argue.” Ali Asghar was often annoyed talking about his son.

“And Surya Jan?” Affan asked. Ali Asghar got married at the age of eighteen. He was forty-five years old now. His eldest son had turned twenty-five. And his daughter was twenty-one years old.

“Surya Jaan is my pride; she’s doing a Master's in Cosmology. She will be the first Iranian Muslim female to land on the moon,” Ali Asghar mentioned his daughter with pride.

“How is Hasan Hussain?”

“Hasan Hussain is fine. Hasan is missing me; Hussain is enjoying his days without parents.”

“Hussain has been different from the very beginning.” Affan nodded his head in agreement.

“Every child can't have the same traits as their parents”

“When are you going back?”

“Hopefully a couple of days later. What about you?”

“My workload is increasing; I have to give a couple of lectures. Might have to wait another week.”

Affan nodded. He was never the kind of person to talk too much.

“What about the book you were writing?”

“Ali Asghar, don't ask this question. No writer has the answer to that question,” he sighed.

“I can understand; writing a book is not easy. Do you have any surgery ahead?”

“Spinal tumour resection; tomorrow evening. I have to go to a lecture now.” Affan picked up his raincoat and got up from the sofa.

“Will you bring me, Mantu?” Mantu was an Iranian/Afghan dish. They were very similar to dumplings.

“Will do. Khuda Hafiz, Ali, Asghar”

“See you in the evening, Qasim”, He replied with a nod. Ali Asghar had yet to perform another surgery.

 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

“Hi George, is my Armani shoot cancelled?” Doel asked, putting the phone to his ear. Aldert had been asleep for the past twenty-five hours. It was the first time Doel had been indoors for so long. He couldn’t live without parties and socialising.

“No, they postponed. It will be four months later. They want you as the model”

“Hey, thank them for waiting on me. I may not be able to work for a while. A dear one is gravely ill.”

“Alex, are you crazy? You have to begin shooting season five. You have a five-year contract with them. If you back off now, they can file a case against you.” Alex always found ways to test George's patience.

“Try to talk through...”

“Alex...” George interrupted, “Sony Studios is no joke. Do you know what impression you will leave? You won an Oscar, and now you’re demanding too much. Armani's shoot was postponed yesterday, and you’re challenging Sony today? You have any idea how badly will it affect your career? Get back to work.”

“George, you don't understand because you don't have friends. I can’t leave him in that situation,” Doel resisted.

“No one ever came to meet you for years; you spent all your life alone. Now, where are these friends coming from? I, too, Alex, have a lot of friends, and someone dies every day. If I go to lay flowers on everyone's grave, I’d be absent from work every day.” George was being insensitive.

“George, will you ever stop eating my head off? Every time you ask for a favour for family reasons, I grant it; do you fail to understand my situation then?”

“There’s a huge difference between...”

“It doesn't matter to me; my friends are my family. If you can’t talk to Sony, it’s fine; I will. That’s what social media is for; I’m posting a story. My friend is sick; I need a break. Will tag Sony, Armani, and all the deals I have for another month or so. If I have any concerts or meet-and-greets, I'll postpone those too”

“You won't do that, will you? It’ll damage your career beyond repair, Alex”

“As if I care.”

“You won’t do that, Alex. I’ll resign,” he tried to warn him. “Alex. You can not do that... Alex…”

“Adiós, amigo.” Doel chuckled and hung up. He enjoyed getting on George’s nerves more than anything in the entire world.

He took to Instagram, posted a long story about his break, tagged Sony, Armani, and all the brands he would be working with over the next few weeks, and apologised.

Doel didn’t want to hear the response for now, so he put the phone on airplane mode. He opened his phone's gallery, opened a specific folder, and started scrolling through photos. These weren’t just pictures; these were his achievements over the years.

A selfie taken last night at the Oscars, wearing a shiny black tuxedo, and Alex Hudson looked like the central star of a galaxy.

The next one was taken a few weeks ago: a selfie with his favourite director, Alfonso Cuarónh. With the winning team of La Liga, Real Madrid.

The next picture was with David Beckham. In the Premier League, he came to watch the final. That year, he also became Arsenal's brand ambassador. The next picture was with Tiger Woods; he had a shoot with Tiger for Nike. This was a selfie taken on the set. Tiger had his golf stick in his hand.

“You’re still here?” he removed the pillow from his face and opened half an eye.

Doel turned to hear Aldert's voice. He smiled and sat down beside him. “I was waiting for you to die”

“Why aren't you leaving? Don't you have anything else to do?” Aldert removed the blanket from his legs and tried to get up. Doel reached over and helped him up.

“Will you throw up again if I give you water?” Doel sat down next to him on the couch. Aldert looked at him for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“You said, you know,” he mumbled.

“I refuse to believe that,” he said, shrugging.

He pointed at the table in front of him. “All my reports are in front of you; there is no chance that you haven’t read every single one of them till now, " Aldert said, shrugging. " Reading, I would not be where I am today”

“How many hours have I slept?”

“Maybe twenty-seven; tell me what happened?”

“Why don't you go?” Aldert was irritated.

“Aldert,” Doel took a deep breath. “I'm going to slap you so hard that you’ll break your jaw. I'm not hitting you because I don’t think you’d be able to handle it. For god’s sake, just tell me what I found out is false. I came across seven seas just to see you, and this is how you treat me?”

“I don’t know how you found that out, but it isn’t. Doel Wilson Parker, I am dying. You hear that? I... Am... Dying,” he shouted out loud. The entire lounge echoed with his cry.

“Do you know how my life was two months ago?l Aldert's voice rose. He sat close to him and glared. “I was an architect, matchless in my field; no major building plan in Copenhagen was finalised without consulting me. All the buildings built here in the last six years are because of me. I had lost count of the prestigious buildings I have designed. The Qataris asked me to design their airports. I designed Roger Federer's post-retirement villa. Mercedes wanted me to design their new headquarters. I had just bought my dream house and my dream car. I had just started e. Thefe” Aldert's voice started to break. He was sobbing.

“I was hitting hard at the gym, still losing weight. I thought it was because of my poor sleep; I was always a workaholic...”

“And a vomit changed everything. Tonnes of testing, tonnes of consulting, mountains of hope, all shattered. And here I am, diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, late stage. Why?” He grabbed Doel by his collar.

“Why did this happen to me? A couple of months ago, I could design a world-class piece of architecture with my eyes closed. And today? I have lost total motor control. Can’t even lift a pencil.”  Aldert's voice grew louder and louder. He was in agony.

“I'm sweating like a pig in minus two degrees. I can’t look at the light; I throw up when I eat; I throw up when I drink. The physique I built over years in the gym has been erased. There’s no sign of it; I have become a living corpse. Headache, stomach ache, pain in hands and feet. What part of my body is not blue from swelling? I don't want to leave this house. I don't want to see anyone's face. I haven’t stepped outside since my diagnosis. I sleep for days and days with sleeping pills. Look at me, Doel. I feel ashamed of what happened to me. I can’t even dare to look at myself in a mirror”

“Aldert?” Doel called him softly. He gently placed his hand on Aldert’s shoulder.

“Who was the fittest of us all? Aldert David. Who was the most health-conscious? Aldert David. Who was the athlete? Aldert David. Who should have had the longest life of us all? “Aldert David… and now…” His voice softened. “Who is going to die first? Aldert David.” Doel was unsure of how to console him. He had never consoled a dying man; it wasn’t his domain.

“How can I believe I'm going to die in a month? How can I accept that my life is just about to end? How can I believe? Doel? I am scared. I will die alone; my body will rot here in this house, and no one will know I am dead for weeks. I fear such a death, Doel. I don’t wanna die like that, please I don’t...”

“Nothing will happen to you, I promise you that.”

“There is no cure for this damned pancreatic cancer. I told my sister about my illness, and she has filed a property case against me. Who will I go to? To you? Affan? To Zoe? To Seher? Charlotte? Eoin? Does anyone even remember me? I myself expelled you all from my life. How will I face you? How? Do something, please, Doel. Do something, I don’t wanna die, not alone”

“You’re not alone.” Doel moved forward and wrapped both arms around him. Aldert put his head on his shoulder and started sobbing like a baby. His heart had been holding on to the pain for so long; finally, he had a shoulder to cry on.

 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

Seher was in Amsterdam; she had a conference at seven o'clock in the evening. She had asked the president of Vaterschaft for a month's leave, and was to receive leave after the conference. She could go to Pakistan for a month.

After three years, she finally found time to go to Pakistan. The joy of going home was visible on her face, but so was nervousness about the conference today; she had to see every corner of the city for the next two days. Seher had prepared a list of places to visit in Amsterdam. Tired of daydreaming about her world tour, and with no good shows on TV, she picked up her phone and started scrolling through Instagram. First on her feed was a post by Alexander Parker Hudson.

It was a lengthy paragraph, in which he apologised to his fans and admirers for taking a sudden break. A loved one of his was ill, and he wanted to devote all his time only to them. For the next few weeks, he wasn't going to do any movies, songs, seasons, photoshoots or meet-and-greets. Seher opened the page of Sony. Sony announced the termination of its contract with Alex Hudson and called Alex's behaviour very unprofessional.

Someone else was now to be cast in the season; Armani waited for Alex to return. Many people had many opinions. Some people, who supported his decision, stood by him. Some labelled him as an attention seeker and said that after winning the Oscars, he had become like other celebs.

“I don't know what’s wrong with people.” Seher took a deep breath. She knew Doel; he never ignored his work unless there was a huge problem up ahead.

She picked up the phone and texted Doel. “Sorry I couldn't congratulate you on winning the Oscar; I was a bit busy. Saw your story; Sony terminated the contract. I know you must be sad. But if you're not in it, I won't be watching season five. Which loved one is sick, though? Is all well?” Seher wrote the message and sent it. Allah knows what time zone of the world he was in, not knowing when the answer would come.

From the windows of the sky-high building, she could see the entire city. Amsterdam was busy today. All the guests who attended the UNESCO conference were accommodated at this hotel. She smiled as she pulled the chair close to the window.

She thought of the days when she didn’t have money; all she could think about was what she would spend it on when she was self-dependent. And now, when she was self-dependent, she knew how to earn more.

Enzo, Emma, ​​Christian Fischer, Fritz, and Seher handed them all about where to invest the money Doel ref, and to take. Enzo suggested buying shares in a car company; Emma advised investing in a restaurant; Fring told her to buy two or three cars and rent them out; and Fischer, being Fischer, suggested finding a good man and having a dream wedding. She hadn't asked Morgan yet.

Morgan was the wisest of them; she would suggest something workable. Seher called Morgan.

“Morgan?”

“What's Amsterdam like?” Morgan was chewing something.

“Drenched in rain. How are you? Is my car doing well?”

“The car shows it’s “your” car. Fast and reliable. Why’d you call?”

“I need advice”, she said, thinking her mind kept wandering.

“Shoot”

She put her cappuccino aside...I have 300,000 euros. Where should I invest them?”

“Give ‘em to me, " Morgan replied seriously. She wasn’t kidding.

“I'm serious, Morgan.”

“Three hundred thousand euros is no joke. Where’d you get so much money?”

“I had to pay someone's debt; I refused to take the money. Now I have it. It’s better to invest it somewhere.”

“Do you have some money in the savings account too?”

“Around 300 000 Euros,” Seher replied, sipping her hot coffee.

“Good God, girl, you’re damn rich. I’m jealous now.” There was surprise in Morgan's voice.

Seher laughed at what she said. “Why so surprised?”

“My salary is almost the same as yours, and my deposit is only forty thousand euros, or maybe even less. How do you stop yourself from spending?”

Seher smiled and shrugged, “I'm the head of forensics at Vaterschaft, yet I didn't own a car until a year ago, always used public transport, never took a single holiday in eight years, never wasted a single cent on luxuries. No vacations, no parties; the time I've spent in Berlin, I've spent like a miser. Because I had to pay someone back, now he refuses to take the money. I deserve it, a bit of joy now. I’ll keep some for myself, and invest the rest. Can you give an idea of where to invest?”

“You want long-term; just don't want to take too much risk”

“Get a consultant. Do a little research; the more money you have, the more likely you will be looted.”

“Thanks, Morgan”

“Will you come back to Germany or go directly to Pakistan from Amsterdam?”

“I’ll come; I have a couple of things to get sorted before going home.” Is it home anymore? she wondered.

“I need you to bring me some stuff from Amsterdam.”

“No problem, as long as it’s no drugs”

“Nope, just a couple packets of heroin.” Morgan hid her smile.

“Very funny”

“Take care, Seher. I have to go”

“Sure, dear. Bye.” She hung up the phone and put it in her pocket. In the other pocket of the sweater was a small white frame with black writing. She took out the frame. A beautiful name was carved right in the centre of the frame.

‘Al Muhaimin’ was written in English below ‘The Protector’. Seher kissed the frame and put it back in his pocket. She always carried this frame with her when going out of the house. These tiny frames had become a part of her personality. She started looking out the windows again. Amsterdam looked beautiful.

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 

“I still can’t comprehend how you found out about me.” Aldert had showered; he looked better now. He was wearing shorts, sitting next to Doel, facing the window of his lounge.

“None of your business”, he muttered.

“Are you spying on me?...” He narrowed his puffy, swollen eyes, then smirked. “I knew you had a thing for me.”

“Tsk Tsk Tsk...” Doel looked at him in disbelief; “Look at you, just about to die, and still that narcissistic ass of yours hasn’t humbled”

“How’s… uhh… how’s she?” Aldert refrained from taking her name.

Doel smiled warmly, “She’s good, and…”

“And?” Aldert raised an eyebrow.

“And still hot, and very divorced too”.

“You know there’s a special place for people like you in hell, just beside the Devil himself. Are you his right hand?”

“I believe the Devil’s left-handed. And what do you mean by people like me? I am offended by that statement. There’s nobody like Doel Wilson Parker,” he patted his own shoulder with a proud smile.

“I want to do scuba," he sighed.

“Do it then.” he slurped the soup from his dumpling bowl and nodded in agreement.

“I can’t.” Aldert took a deep breath.

“Name a wish that can actually come true”

“Who’s going to fulfil ‘em?”

“This sizzling hot, super handsome, sexy genie of yours, darling”, he pulled Aldert uncomfortably close and murmured seductively.

“Get off of me, idiot.” Aldert laughed weakly and pushed him away. “I’ll be dead before even half of them are fulfilled.” He shrugged and passed a sad smile.

“I’ll die fulfilling your wishes; at least you won’t regret what’s left of your life”

“I’ll have to get out of this penthouse to live the life that’s left. You’re looking at my condition. I can’t reach the kitchen without falling at least three times in between.”

Doel nodded without looking at him. He had no answer for that.

“But thanks for coming, Triple P. You came to see me. You showed great resilience despite my behaviour. You don’t understand how much this means to me. And sorry for treating you like that,” He looked at Doel. He was truly grateful.

“You better say sorry, you wretched bitch, Sony fired me from the contract because of you.”

Aldert laughed wholeheartedly, “Ouch”, and then put his hand on his stomach and groaned. “I can't believe the guy who used to sit next to me for hours and gossip about professors won an Oscar today,” he said, looking at Doel. "Can’t believe the guy who used to run five kilometres a day; can’t even walk to the kitchen”

Aldert shrugged, “Death happens to everyone.”

“List down your wishes; let’s see which ones this hot genie can make come true.” Doel quickly pulled out his phone and opened the Notes app. He couldn’t bear the death talk anymore.

“I have to go to the mountains.”

“Okay”, he said, tapping his keyboard.

“Playing in the snow.”

“Noted.”

“I wanna race all my friends down an endless road.”

“You can’t walk without support...”

“In cars, idiot”, Aldert interrupted him. Doel pursed his lips in an “oh” and shook his head vigorously. “Hell yeah.”

Doel patiently listened to Aldert's list and made notes on the phone. He laughed at some wishes because they seemed so frivolous to him. Some sounded nearly impossible. Some things were very small, some very huge. Some things were time-consuming; some weren’t. Some wishes seemed like those of a philosopher; others, of a seven-year-old child, but the most difficult one of Aldert David’s million wishes was to gather his old friends. Interrupting the well-run lives of five people, getting them to put their commitments on hold for a month and fly thousands of miles to see a friend they hadn’t seen in years, was a tough job. Zoe Bruce was a writer, Affan Ali Qasim was a neurosurgeon, Charlotte Alexander was an event manager, and Seher Hamza was a forensic research expert. Eoin Mitchell Scott was probably doing something too. No one's work was so unimportant that they would just leave it behind and book a flight to Copenhagen.

The only way Doel could convince them all to come was by acting. He had to bring them all together. While he felt sorry for Aldert's condition, he was also a little happy that, after eleven years of no contact, there was hope they could sit together again.

“Should I call them in Denmark? Or you wanna go to Australia?” took a deep breath and looked at Aldert. Doel was not used to seeing his withered face. Their friendship had begun in Melbourne, Australia.

“Call everyone to Denmark. I wanna see every majestic piece of architecture in Europe before I die.”

“You’ve already seen more than half of them," Doel reminded him.

“Chemotherapy has made my brain a little weak.” Taking off the cap, he patted his bald head and smiled. The set quiff wasn’t there anymore.

“You remember the things that matter to you very well.” Doel grimaced.

“Come on, Oscar boy, how can one ever be tired of buildings?”

“Okay, okay, stop being a bitch”

“That’s not my gender”

“Bitch is a gender neutral term; it’s for people who are...”

“Who are you?” Aldert raised an eyebrow.

“Bitches.” Doel shrugged and winked. Aldert laughed again. “Ouch, that hurts.” “Charlotte had a message for you.”

“You told her you’re coming to see me?” Aldert couldn’t believe his ears.

“Of course I did”

Aldert sighed in disappointment. “I’ll hear what she has to say when I see her.”

“Okay”, he nodded. A satisfied smile appeared on Aldert's face. If Doel said he would gather them all, he would.

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

He loosened the knot of his tie, jumped onto the break room sofa, rested his head on the back, and closed his eyes. After eight hours of surgery, Dr Qasim could not bear standing. Ali Asghar was performing a heart transplant in the second OR.

He had a bad headache.

No more than five minutes had passed when his phone rang. Affan took a deep breath and put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Dr Qasim?” It was a soft voice.

“Speaking. Yes?”

“Is this Dr Jaffar Affan Ali Qasim?”